


Shadows of the Past

by zinke



Series: What We Didn't See [12]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-16
Updated: 2007-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: Without warning I am transported back to another election night, now years ago, and I feel a chill run down my spine as I come to the conclusion that I no longer care for the Almighty"s particular flavor of humor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the next installment – we’re in the home stretch now, which feels both sad and good at the same time. Hope it's been as fun for you to read as it's been for me to write. And now I'll stop because it's too soon to be signing off with two installments still left to go.
> 
> Thanks go as ever to caz963 for the suggestions, the beta and the lump on my head – that 2x4 packs a wallop but it’s been worth it in the end. I hope you all agree.

I love movies. Although I don’t get the chance to see many these days, when I was younger watching them was one of my favorite things to do. My parents would go out most Saturday nights, and like any teenager I was always happy to see them go. But rather than raid the liquor cabinet with my friends, I would press my latest rental from Videoland into the VCR and curl up on the couch with a bowl of Jiffy-Pop. Even then I’d known that I wanted something more from my life than the mundane Wisconsin existence my parents had chosen for themselves. The problem was that I had no idea what I wanted in its place. 

At that time in my life, those movies offered glimpses into worlds of which I longed to be a part, occupied by characters whose lives were filled with excitement and achievement. To settle for anything less, I felt, would be a waste.

“Donna? Donna, I’m going to need Josh. Is he off camera yet?” 

Now, as I stand here trying to come to terms with this horrible news, I am embarrassed by just how naïve I must have been to think that feeling every emotion this acutely would be an adventure. I’ve felt enough of this – a dread that feels like everything and nothing all at once – since those nights on my parents’ couch to last me a lifetime. 

_“This is what Josh is gonna be working on 24 hours and he's gonna need your help and he's gonna need you to know, and so I'm telling you...”_

Swallowing back the nausea that’s creeping up the back of my throat, it occurs to me that there are others, people I love, who have had to weather some of the same storms as I, and who I’ve seen almost break under the strain. That watching – when the weight of your own fear leaves you powerless to help anyone else – is excruciating. 

The reassuring timbre of Josh’s voice somehow breaks through the cacophony surrounding me here in the war room and inside my own head. I turn to the room’s bank of TVs and search him out, finding the recycled interview on the far left screen just as Josh pounces on Jeff, cutting off the reporter mid-sentence and firing off a rebuttal that is characteristically brazen, just like the smirk he’s aiming at the camera as he speaks. It makes me heartsick to see him like that, completely in his element yet blissfully unaware of what’s happened.

No one man should have to endure a life so full of leavings and disappointments—especially a man with a soul as eager and faithful as Josh’s. Right now, on the television, he looks every bit the egotistical politico, oozing confidence and charisma while spouting well-crafted sound bites and advocating various planks of the Democratic Party platform. But underneath all the ego-driven sarcasm and bluster, Josh is an idealist who believes in the power of honor and virtue. What I realized quite early on in our relationship—and had carelessly forgotten until only recently—is that he possesses an unwavering trust in those lucky enough to be loved by him. It is both his greatest strength and greatest weakness, because while Josh will place unquestionable faith in his friends and loved ones he’s never thought himself to be worthy of the same in return. He’s spent a lifetime toiling for devotion he’s never believed he deserves, moving through life on tenterhooks while waiting to be discarded once his pitiful truth came out. This latest blow will simply confirm those fears he’s always held closest to his heart. 

I can’t protect him from this—the news itself, or what I know he’ll take away from it. Yet another truth about him I’ve had to learn the hard way, a lesson indelibly etched into my memory years ago, like the faint scar across his palm. The only thing to do will be to help hold him together when he finally cracks under the strain of these self-imposed burdens.

_“I don't need a doctor.”_

_“Are you a doctor?”_

_“No.”_

_“Then be quiet.”_

I’m so lost in this labyrinth of thoughts and memories that it takes me several seconds to realize that Lou is still talking to me – about what I can’t even begin to hazard a guess. It’s doesn’t much matter, really; there are only two things I want – no, need – to know and thankfully one simple question should cover both.

“Where?”

Lou stops short at my sharp slice of a question, and gives me an appraising stare before responding carefully, “Methodist. Do you—”

Shaking off the question I turn resolutely for the door. “Tell the Congressman that Josh or I will call him once we get there.”

This time Lou doesn’t miss a beat, following right on my heels as I make my way clumsily through the mass of staffers between myself and the door. “I really don’t think now is the best time to have our Campaign Manager—” 

“No.” There isn’t going to be a debate about this, not with her and certainly not with Josh once I’ve found him. Lou can think of me whatever she likes, but Josh is not going to be put into a position where he’s forced to make a choice, because no matter what he decides, he won’t be able to live with the guilt of not putting the other first. Lou, The Congressman, Bruce and Gene – every damn one of them is simply going to have to wait.

My determination must be written plainly on my face, because Lou backs down almost immediately, raising her hands in a universal sign of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Before I have the presence of mind to thank her, Lou is gone, weaving through the room’s traffic with an unaffected ease that I at once both envy and despise. How can she not understand what this means – to the campaign, to Josh? Leo’s being rushed to the hospital for the second time in two years, and all Lou’s thinking about is how the campaign is going to respond to this latest pothole in the campaign trail. She doesn’t realize the magnitude of what’s happening; but then again, how could she? Lou’s really only known Leo for the few months of the campaign, as the mostly-absent half of a Presidential ticket rather than as the distinguished mentor he had been to those of us working under him in the White House. So many here will never understand what they’ve lost.

It occurs to me suddenly that I am thinking in the past tense, as if the worst has already happened, and I shudder involuntarily at the realization. Pausing a moment just inside the doorway, I close my eyes against the burn of my tears, trying to rein in my roiling emotions. As difficult as I know it will be, I need to be the one to tell Josh what’s happened, and I need to be in control when I do it, no matter how beleaguered my hopes may be.

_“What’s that?”_

_“It’s my ‘What a Shame’ folder. All the stuff we never have time for. The stuff we thought we’d fix when we got here, but we never did.”_

He’s finally let me back in, and I’m not going to let him down.

With strengthened resolve, I force myself forward and into the hallway, which is every bit as chaotic as the war room. Despite the bubbling noise and the people swirling around me I am able to pick Josh out as if on instinct, watching as he strides down the hallway while speaking animatedly into his cell phone. I usually love to see him like this – filled with boundless energy and excitement, doing the work he was born to do. Today, it only makes me feel that much more guilty about what it is I have to do. Without warning I am transported back to another election night, now years ago, and I feel a chill run down my spine as I come to the conclusion that I no longer care for the Almighty's particular flavor of humor. 

Tucking his phone against his shoulder, Josh stops as he reaches me. “Hang on... Hey - what happened to you? Two minutes, 120 seconds. I was stuck in there with dull and duller counting beads on my imaginary abacus... Ohio? Texas—we won? We lost? We need a good lawyer? What?”

_Leo, we’ve got to replace this music, we’ve got to replace it with some Doobie Brothers!_

I take one long moment to commit his face to memory – the mirthful grin, the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes, the easy set of his shoulders – then, my heart heavy with guilt, I speak the words that will invariably steal all of it away. “Leo was unconscious...” 

_No, Josh, no... Your father died._

 

* fin.*


End file.
